I grew up with perhaps a dozen kids in my neighborhood. Nobody was rich, but, that said, none of us ever missed a meal. Typically, Dad worked and Mom was home. Nothing was hardscrabble about our existence.
Some of my buddies preferred fishing, some deer hunting, myself and a few others were bird hunters. Small game like rabbits and squirrels were in that mix too, but, usually not sought specifically. The predictions that I can see from my own era, were having a Dad that hunted, even just a bit, being a male child, and having access to some local spots. As kids, we were chased out of a few spots, but, public hunting was usually available.
My Dad was orphaned in 1929, and lived as a foster child for 17-years-he represented a monthly check in the depression years. I’m not sure hardscrabble comes close enough to how things were for him. A regular part of his weekly chores was hunting for small game, or, fishing, usually for panfish, to help with family meals. If he didn’t do it a few times a week, he caught hell.
Dad loved being outside, Lloyd. He liked bringing something home, but, always said a bad day hunting was better than a good day working. That little group of friends that spent mornings before and afternoons after school hitting a few local hunting spots is just a memory. I’m the only one left who keeps a Setter, and hunts birds in the fall. Everyone else is gone, aged out, or just moved on. I really don’t want to be that guy who goes to the gun club on weekend afternoons to play 500 or cribbage with the other old and deaf guys.
If I see a few birds, I’m happy.
Best,
Ted
